


Love of All My Lives

by jetblacklilac



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Mafia AU, Reincarnation AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 19:02:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14087577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetblacklilac/pseuds/jetblacklilac
Summary: They used to say the Skywalkers are royalties, they rule the galaxies with their name molded from gold. And maybe this is why happiness will always be a mere fantasy for people in power.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i LOVE this idea and i'll try to not mess this one up !

**_Prologue_ **

A hard life can be categorized in varying levels and will always be subjective; your definition isn’t an exception. The galaxy is always on the brink of utter destruction; you tremble at the very notion of the catalyst of it all. Even with breath-taking sunsets, the company you adore, a dark cloud looms above everyone. The clouds drizzles sad and fearful thoughts on peoples’ heads then it seeps in their minds and it becomes tainted with blue. This gloom is exceedingly prevalent you can almost taste the sadness when you frown. 

You’re only overwhelmed with melancholy when you’re not working in the labs or you’re alone. The rest of the times, you’re surrounded by the rebellion. Pilots and strategists from all over the systems debate and construct new plans in attempting to dismantle the First Order. You can hear them talk of hope as though they’re casually speaking of the weather. Your heart soars at the blazing optimism these people have, it brightens up their face and motivates everyone around them. The worries don’t damper your mood when you’re concentrating in repairing the ships pilots utilize in destroying Imperial ships. 

What’s a person to do when troubling thoughts infect their day?

Not so long ago, your ears rattled with the screams in the air and the unified marches of stormtroopers. You tilted your chin higher and observed your parents. They hugged you tight, limbs and breaths quivering. They were the reason why the Alliance recruited you. For reasons of your technical abilities with gears residing in ships, they provided you shelter and food. Most importantly, they lit your heart with fiery hope. 

You hadn’t voiced your question yet the answer is found. A person’s comfort, you thought, as your father wiped the tears swimming in your sad eyes.  _ Dying in the arms of whom you love is almost poetic justice, yeah? You’ll smile with the feel of their love as life escapes your chest.  _ His soft and pleading voice tormented you for years. His last words chased your childish dreams away and replaced it with their bodies on your feet, unmoving and eyes wide open in fear. 

Now, the comfort you found goes by the name of Luke Skywalker. Just his name flushes ease through your frenzied nerves. Though you don’t confess this in the open, being registered by other people but yourself, it is as true as the rebellion prevailing. They would demand an explanation for your feelings for him. The same question has been plaguing you since his gentle eyes accidentally gazed upon you. How can you explain a concept as complex as utter veneration?

People acquainted or merely caught glimpses of Luke empathise with your flowery thoughts. he doesn’t tower over a crowd, not in the manner similar to Han Solo, his loquacious friend. A brunette man with chocolate like hair and eyes that perpetually sparkles. His wit is the only thing quicker than his invaluable ship. But, you fawn over with a smile, Luke carries himself with such light the suns of any system can’t ever compare. His pliable touch and voice could end this wretched war in your dreams.

But the secrecy of romance doesn’t hinder you both from late night strolls, star gazing, and talks that covered everything and nothing in the same time.

“I‘ll be creating my own Jedi Temple now.” Luke mutters; his optimistic voice matches the scrunch of his eyebrows. He adjusted himself on your small rectangular bed. It provided so little space your upper body is basically sprawled on his chest; not that either of you minded. The silvery stream of the moon washed over his features with luminance that nearly made you look away; as though you weren’t worthy of such a sight. And maybe it is true.  

Content curls low in your stomach when his fingers trace patterns on your skin. “That is quite honourable of you! The legacy will not die now it appears. ” Your own hand cards through his honey like hair; soft and shines in the night. Desperation urges you to memorise him right now, safe and still breathing. His conviction would someday carry him in places you’re not bound to go. 

His laughter tickles the baby hairs plastered on your forehead. “Thanks for the vote of confidence! Now I truly am inspired.” He teased and his metallic hand curling on your hips. He inched you higher so you lay next to him as he brushes his nose against yours. His eyes ardently attend to your face, adoring and worrying.

The cold of his bionic hand leaves whispers of tingles on the skin it skims on.  It was always tantalizing when he does this with ardent caution; gentle and reverent. Almost like how you both love each other, you fondly thought with a lazy smile curling the corners of your mouth. 

Luke disobeyed the ideals of the Jedi Order for love. Love for family in terms of his father. He loves and he loves everyone with an innocent heart. If he isn’t out saving the galaxy, living up to the Jedi ideals, he’s with you, serving as a distraction in your work with jokes and a dazzling smile. He tells stories of when before everything had happened, the horror that wrought lands. The times he spent in Tatooine, the friends he had and lost them to the Empire. In return, you retell how your parents inspired you to fight, to churn the sadness in you to make their deaths mean more than weights burdening your breaths

“We can run away.” You breathed out. If anyone finds out of the rendezvous the peril of any raids won’t compare to the danger this situation can be. A Jedi must not have any attachments. Attachments are weaknesses and they are anything but that. Yet here you are, lying next to the greatest Jedi, and you know any punishment is worthy for his love. 

Luke sighed and his hand always in a need to be in contact of your skin, lightly massaged the nape of your neck. “I wish I can. I wish we can live in Alderaan with my sister, Han, and everyone else. But, I can’t, my love. I’m a Jedi. I can’t let this die. And you can’t come with me.” He answers the usual things; his attention drawn to the velvet darkness outside the square window behind you. He had an impression as though he’s reciting a dream of his, a fantasy too far distance from his grasp. And perhaps he is.

You move closer, his chin brushing the crown of your head, and your face is met with the shirt he donned. Eyed closed, you feel the softness of the shirt and intently listened to the rhythmic taps of his heart.

The imminent separation tears your heart in tiny bits. Your tasks anchor you to the ship when there is nothing more you want than to stay with Luke. Maybe you can help him in his journey in seeking what he desires; restoration and teaching of the Force. Your face, painted in pained urgency, says it all and his expression mirrors it precisely. “I hope you’ll be safe.” You mumbled and you like to think you’re pleading to his heart. Your eyes are still clenched tight. “Please return to the ones you love. Leia, Han, even Chewie will want update on your wellbeing.” 

His arms bring you impossibly closer and he brushes his cheek on top of your head. “How about you? Will you love me even when I’m not telling lame jokes?” He whispered. 

Muffled laughter vibrated on his chest. “I’m being serious here. I need you to be safe. You have people that love you.” The hug you both are in tightened by a noticeable fraction. You frown at how Luke is pulling away from you; the warmth he has is ineffable and his affections are things you have never known. 

He sits up against the wall the bed is pushed up against but his left arm slung loosely on your hips. “I have a surprise for you.” He announces with a beam the stars in any galaxy would envy. He slips his hand in his pants and opens his palm. 

A small pool of silver is glimmering in the night as his hand hovers between the two of you. It now a dangle into a necklace, at the base of it, is a square locket, metallic yet its surface is smooth as satin. He leans forward, separating the link and clasped it behind your neck. His look of adoration never falls from his face, it even grew fonder when he leaned back and studied it shining. 

Your fingers touch the cold surface and your heart swells impossibly bigger. You made a move to hug him but he stops you.

“Chewie made the locket. The moment I said it’s for you, he made it with no reward.” Luke shyly explains. He then fishes in his pocket, unfolding a piece of paper. It had dots of lines in a methodical arrangement. 

Constellations, you realized. “What star is this? I don’t think I’ve seen this before.” You confessed, the paper now rested on your hands. You repeatedly studied its odd patterns but none came to your mind.

Luke leans forward and places a staccato kiss on your forehead. His eyes, light with love, gazes at you. “You’re something I’ve never seen before. So sweet, tough, and independent, you’re this star, my love. I named it after you. I’ve consulted with the experts in the base and truly this star has no name. It’s hard to find but what a gem when you witness it shine.” He answers. It is clear the topic of his flowering words isn’t what you hold. “Everywhere you go, you have my love with you.” 

His words cut any string of sentences your mind has prepared in response. You merely stare at him, mouth agape, and heart hammering, and genuinely doubting this man is real. “Luke…. Is this a parting gift?” You timidly put forth. You scoot closer to him, hands cupping his face, and you don’t dare blink in waiting for his response.

His roll of eyes melted your heart.

“Of course not! I’ll return I promise you.” He vowed. His eyes shone in seriousness, his hands held you as though you would slip away at any second. And his oath, oh your heart fluttered madly at that. 

Later on you learn, Luke is never keen on keeping any promises he makes.


	2. Sparks Fly in Collisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally met but how long will it last this time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm an utmost sucker for this idea shh

The two aforementioned souls never met after Luke’s departure. Years flew by and yet the love never wavered. Even centuries have passed but Luke and his love hasn’t met. They used to say the Skywalkers are royalties, they rule the galaxies with their name moulded from gold. And maybe this is why happiness will always be a mere fantasy for people in power. To have stability is something no monarch will ever achieve; though not for forever. 

Yet, whatever deity who has the true grip on the reigns of the universe, the necklace is passed on. An heirloom they have labelled it. The lustre in its metal never wavered. The concealed declaration of love still rests in its square case; the meaning of it never uttered so forgotten and can’t be deciphered. One of your ancestors though, she suspected it was done for love, an echo of what occurred lifetimes ago. And so, the necklace and the notion of love, is inherited.

The very same necklace now hangs on your neck. You absentmindedly loop it around your finger as you sit in your office, eyes following the paragraphs of the book spread out on your medium sized toffee coloured work desk. 

You lift a page as you move on the next chapter. Nothing relaxed you more than reading a book before meeting with your next client.

An abrupt knock interrupted your reading. “Come in.” You hum, wedging a paper thin bookmark between the pages. The assumption of your assistant, coming in to hand you the schedule of clipboard, is false.

His height nearly brushed the top of the doorway. Though he wasn’t muscular, the fitting ash-grey blazer accentuated his lean arms and torso. The trousers were loose on his ankles and his Italian shoes shined with the faint gleam of an afternoon. 

What was unmistakably the intimidating factor stood at the foot of the stranger. A Tibetan Mastiff with abyss for eyes, taffy tongue rolling out of its mouth, and the coffee fur was shaggy and crowded on its face. 

He twisted his head, the slope of his nose and the sharp of his jaw highlighted. “You sure this is the one?” The gruffness of his voice morphed his inquiry into a tone of interrogation. 

Your boss, not the best and mediocre at most, nodded and this action is exaggerated that his head could’ve fallen off. His withered hands slid against each other in undisguised agitation. “Ye-yes, sir Solo.” He stuttered a response. 

He rolled his eyes and waved his large hand in the air. “Just Han would do. I’m not a knight.” He grumbled then he closed the door, blocking you from the sight of your frightened boss. He strolled down to your desk with his dog obediently trailing without a leash; increasing the frightening sight before you. He plopped down on the cushioned chair and his long longs folded in front him. “Quaint office.” He said in nonchalance.

“Thank you.” Your voice is merely an inch above a whisper. The moment a name is pinned on your guest, terror crept upon you. He is affiliated with one of the most powerful mafias around. His very presence rattles your thoughts and wrapped himself thicker in enigma each second passed.

“My Don hears you’re the most qualified physical therapist around. So I’m here, on her behalf, to escort you to our base. Get up and let’s get going.” Han announced with a clipped tone that didn’t encourage any arguments on your side. On his last word, he stood up and his dog, if one even considers it with the size of it, barked in delight. 

You stayed glued on your seat though. “I-I have an appointment at three.” You mildly protest, your hands mirrored the nervous tick of your boss.

“Oh, the Don moved it to next week. Your boss is very cooperative under certain circumstances.” He informed with a sly smile; an implication of his actions. The ghosting smirk didn’t assure you in any way. His method is a topic you’d rather leave untouched. “Don’t keep Chewie waiting. There’s a reason why I call him that, you know, derived from the word “chew”.  He says over his shoulder, not closing the door as he casually exited the room. Chewie remained seated on the centre of your cherry rug.

The taunt is what catalysed you to jump out of your seat and snatch your bag on the desk. The large Mastiff nipped at your left sneaker as you closed the office door. You spotted Han, leaning on a wall opposite to your office and you walk up to him. “I’m ready.” You announced.

He barely reaches down to scratch the spot below Chewie’s ear. “No you’re not. You look like I’m about to throw you off a cliff. Which by the way, I won’t do, not yet anyways.” 

He walks into the building’s lobby, chin in the air. He’s fully aware most of the employees are either swooning at the sight of them. Everyone knows who he works for and what he does. It only sparks more intrigue amongst the staff. Gears in their bored and eager minds are grinding theories of possibilities by the glint in their eyes. 

He leads you to a rustic sand dollar shaded car. You open the door of the front seat but Chewie’s silk fur brushed against your leg. And the next thing you know, the dog is plopped on the leather seat, tongue out and eyes ahead of the road. 

Han laughs; deep and brief. “Sorry kid. Chewie here is like my first mate.” He coos and pats the broad back of it. “Sit in the back. The compound is a bit far from the city.” 

And you obeyed seeing as how Han wore an expectant look that you swore Chewie did too. The trip to this “compound” lasted almost an hour. Shops and townspeople whizzed by outside the car window. Your hands dance on the rough surface of your bag; serving as a distraction so your hands won’t attempt in prying the door open. Bones breaking against the crashing impact against the road is more welcoming than having to go to a mafia’s headquarters. Your front teeth take captive of your bottom lip in worry. Nibbling on the flesh so your please of release won’t crawl out of your throat.

The town exit is several feet behind you now. Ambitious trees that yearn to pierce the sky are planted deep in the forest ground. Smooth roads of the city roughen into dirt path, with the sounds of pebbles and rocks being crushed under the care tires. A few miles of curving and turning then an imposing iron gate and pale walls rose in the field of vision.

Han lowered his window and muttered his whole name in an intercom that’s screwed on the wall. He slid through the gap of the gates; groaning as it enhanced the space for Han’s vehicle. Men dressed like Han littered the parking lot; which is only a spacious lot. They had guns strapped on their waists or dangles it on their sides.

When the car’s engine dies, Solo slides out of his seat and Chewie follows. You clench the strap of your bag, feeling the stares these armed men throw at your feet. Racking your brain, you try and remember if you borrowed money or did anything that skirts out of a law. Yet not one instance surfaced. You keep to yourself and budget your money adequately. This is how you’ve always been.

He, along with Chewie, flanked at your sides as the three of you entered the vast three story pecan coloured house. Leading you through a living room that’s occupied with people who have vigilant eyes and alert postures; your knees trembled at the sight of guns and the scent of cigarette souring the air. This trio climbs up the carpeted stairs. You count two flights of stairs before Han ventures on the third floor. Opening the second door to his right, he enters the room. 

It had minimum decorations; a rectangular bed that has pearl white pillows and sheets. Mahogany desk pushed up against the wall that’s accompanied with a chair. There was another chair situated beside the bed but a petite brunette sat on it. She hadn’t noticed the new arrivals as her hands clutch on some other hands. 

You trace them, those thin arms, attached to the sleeping body tucked in the bed. Fascination expands in your lungs at the sight of this man. With the pale curtains beside the bed, it washed pastel of caramel across his face, making him younger and boyish. His honey locks fan out on the bed and across his forehead, creating an impression of softness. The sight of his lips, like petals of a rose, sent tingles on your fingertips as though you want to trace it. Maybe to see him smile is to witness a bloom of a beloved flower. 

Han shuffled on his footing and cleared his throat. “We’re here.” He muttered, hesitant and his attention hasn’t been strayed from the sleeping form; the man’s chest moves in slow breaths.

The woman rose and faced them. Her face is tight with grim, her dark eyes assessed her quite fiercely. Her cinnamon hair intricately braided down her back and nearly touched her hips. She wore a simple pewter dress, obscuring her neck, its sleeves stopping at her wrists, and the ends brushing her ankles. She carefully places the man’s hand on his thigh and clasps hers together. 

“They say you’re the best.” Formal and distant, this woman could only be the Leia Organa hushed whispers proclaimed in either fear or admiration. 

You glanced at Han, who wasn’t paying attention because he frowned at seeing the sleeping man. “Depends on who you asked.” You muttered, making sure your tone is respectful. The shine of her gun coaster isn’t missed by your eyes.

She smirks, almost similar to Han’s. “Good because my people have searched high and low for a competent one. Sit down and we shall discuss the terms.” She instructed and gestured to the seat where she was on not so long ago.

By the stances rigid stances they had, you truly felt it was an interrogation. Crescent moons marks on the strap of bag. Surely they don’t suspect your hand in this stranger’s injury? A glance at him felt too little a time. You could stare at his gentle appearance until your sight leaves you. The instinct of touching him, assuaging your worries into your own dilemma, pulses strong but you do your best to ignore it. 

“My brother has a prosthetic hand. It’s newly replaced from things I won’t divulge with you. So, I am willing to pay you to help him. I’ll even double your usual salary if you agree that Han will pick you up and bring you here.” Leia says her tone smoothly assertive. 

The answer is spread out on the bed, unconscious and enticing. Curiosity burns hot in your chest and you swear the necklace on your chest grew colder as though it’s realizing something; a notion you don’t know.  _ Luke _ , you wondered with a startling conclusion. No one has uttered his name yet it drifted into your senses.  The longer you stare at him, the more your mind is befuddled with this man. 

“I have to asses him first.” You announce, agreeing in her condition. Lifting up his hand, there were scars from a burning accident that charred his wrist. The new hand was slick and shined. It would take time for his nerves and his mind to make use of this. “Are the weekends alright? I can stay for an hour or two.” 

Han smiles; it was a relieved and genuine. His reaction for his friend is far apart from the confident smiles and snide comments. “That’s real good to hear.” He says.

Leia nods, her sisterly concern sourly curling her mouth. “So be it.” She said. There was only a hint of worry in her tone but you know it could be an ocean more in her chest. “And his name is Luke Skywalker if that is needed in your client data. The only information you need.” Leia says, everything she says is conveyed with such confidence one can’t deny her. 

Your fingers absentmindedly drift up to the necklace as though it holds the questions that remaining swimming in your head. Why does seeing him like this worry you so much? Of course anyone with a heart would be concerned. But this, the want to help him, expands in your veins with each breath you take.

How does one know a stranger’s name with a whisper in their mind?

Staring at Luke, you could almost see him smile. You’re a moth enchanted by such a light.  


End file.
